


No Mercy

by abrokenpieceoftruth



Series: Attackers Incoming in 30 Seconds [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Doppelganger, Gen, McCree vs. Reaper, One Shot, Simulation, in-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27193729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrokenpieceoftruth/pseuds/abrokenpieceoftruth
Summary: Trapped in an endless loop of battles, McCree reflects on what it's like to face your friends—and your enemies.
Series: Attackers Incoming in 30 Seconds [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985131
Kudos: 5





	No Mercy

The wooden stairs creaked and groaned under the thud of his heavy boots, but it didn’t matter—Jesse McCree wasn’t the type to sneak around. If he wanted you dead, he’d much prefer that you knew about it. Only fair.

Below him to his left, his team was setting up in the entryway to a beautiful Japanese building. According to Genji, this was Hanamura, former home to the Shimada brothers, or at least a damn good copy of it. It _felt_ real—he could even smell the cherry blossoms from the blooming trees surrounding them. As he could the last time they’d fought here, and the time before that, and before that. Always the same. 

"How's it going down there, doc?" McCree drawled over the comm as he passed into the building. 

Angela’s voice crackled back to him. “Not a bad start,” she said. “But we could use an advantage.”

"Give me a minute," he responded as he continued his climb. "Anyone in my way?" 

"Um—" Over the earpiece, he heard Orisa’s shield shatter, and a burst of weapons fire whizzed past before the next one dropped. “I can see four down here, but I’m not sure about the other two.”

"I like those odds." The sounds of the battle changed as he moved inside the building through the second floor entrance, the enemy's weapons-fire drowning out his allies’. As he thunked his way up the stairs, he heard a commotion from the comm.

“What’s happening?” he asked quickly. “Angela?”

"No—oh, _Verdammt_ ," she said breathlessly. “Tracer. She came from the side. Hanzo’s down.”

“Can you get him up?”

" _Da_ ," she answered. "But I won't be able to do that again for a while." 

"Well, hopefully you won't need to." He had reached the top. Genji said this was a popular place to watch the arena fights when he was a boy, and he could see why—he had a clear view of the enemy's entire defense setup. It was a mirror to his side—a shield at the front, and everyone else flitting around behind like wasps protecting a nest. 

This was the other thing, the reason he knew it wasn’t real. The people he was looming over, the people he was supposed to kill, were _his_ people. Overwatch, and people he had fought alongside for as long as they’d been trapped here. Reinhardt at the front, Torbjorn in the back. They even had their own Angela to match, wearing a different outfit and using her Caduceus Staff on Widowmaker beside her. 

No, _not_ Angela. It was a copy, flat and lifeless even when it was alive. He had to remember that, or it made everything else so much harder. 

There were a couple other friends down there—Reinhardt, for one, who was holding up the barrier that blocked everyone but him from drawing blood. He and McCree made a good team, but only when they were on the same side. As an enemy, Reinhardt had less feeling than an omnic. It was not pleasant being on the wrong end of that hammer. 

Orisa's shield shattering again and the sound of lasers reflecting off armor finally reminded him to get to work. For the moment, they were all too focused on Orisa to notice him, but he didn't have long. He crouched down and moved to the edge of the balcony to evaluate the field; now, to pick one of the people he'd been working with for who-knows-how-long to put a bullet in. 

Precious seconds went by as he dithered, seconds he should have known better than to waste. Maybe he was hoping for another option. But he didn’t need years of Overwatch tactics training to know that the fastest way to cripple a team was to take out their medic. 

He pulled out his Peacekeeper and took aim. And the next time she moved forward from behind the rear wall, he fired three shots. 

She fell, and lay motionless on the ground, wings wilted at her side like a dead butterfly’s. 

Despite his resolve, that knocked him back. He remembered her working on the Valkyrie suit with Torbjӧrn, schematic in hand as she peered at parts in the Swede’s workshop. And then the first time she had tried it, she was giddy with excitement. Probably the happiest he’d ever seen her.

She was their Angel of Mercy. But, they only used the nickname for the enemy, now. It broke his heart—she used to blush real pretty when they called her that. 

Something damn painful tearing through his arm reminded him that there was still a battle going on. “I got the healer,” he called into his comm. “Move in, now!” He emptied his gun into the shield and stepped back.

There wasn’t anything more he could do from here except be shot to death, so, sure to stay out of the way of their blue-skinned sniper, he moved toward the back stairs. 

Or, he would have, if he hadn’t seen the faint red smoke forming on the floor behind him. 

"Aw, _shit_ ," he muttered. He'd meant to head into the back line and maybe take out Mercy again on her way back to the fight, but letting this particular problem continue was asking for a shotgun to the back of the head. The sounds of the battle grew as his team moved in closer, but McCree just waited, flashbang in hand. 

What began as a wisp started to take shape, curling its way upward and solidifying into a torso with two arms making an X in front of it, each wielding a six-barrel shotgun. If he looked closely enough, he could just make out the inscription . Then emerged the head—wearing the bone-white mask of the Reaper. 

McCree felt his hands grow sweaty. The timing had to be precise—too soon and the flashbang would only hit air, but too late and death would be quick and painful. 

" _Hi_ ," the Reaper said menacingly as his outline solidified. McCree could almost see the wicked grin through his mask. 

"Aw, shut up," McCree retorted. Just as his former mentor raised his guns, he threw his flashbang. 

McCree didn't know if Reyes was still a man, but he took the shock like one. In the second of dazed confusion after the explosion, McCree fanned through the rest of his bullets, rolled away from the retaliation shots, and fired one right through the center of the mask. 

McCree was halfway down the stairs before the body hit the ground. Killing friends was hard, but killing enemies—well, he didn’t like to dwell on it. If he did, he might realize that he was starting to enjoy it. And that was the sort of death he couldn’t come back from. 


End file.
